For Love or Magic (9 page)

“I was seventeen, and there was a group of kids going on a trip to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity. Mom and I went down to the church with a bunch of other people to pack up toolboxes and supplies. I was the only active magical there, and—”

“Your mother wasn't magical?” Desmond asked, a curious lilt in his voice.

“It was daytime. She had night magic.”

He nodded, understanding.

“Anyway,” I went on, “we were in the basement and the lights went out, and there was a flash of blue light, but it wasn't regular light. It was like tiny, thin strings of lightning, dancing around the place. Like magical light.” I held up my nonmagical hands. “
My
light.”

“You felt it? Coming from you, I mean?”

I shook my head. “From me. Through me. Hell if I knew. I held up my hands. I saw it flash out in a circle from where I was standing, arcing from person to person. It was like static shock dialed to eleven. And then … that was it. The pastor found the fuse box and the lights came back on and we all finished packing the tools and went home.”

I went quiet for a bit, gathering myself to tell the rest of the story. Desmond waited, perfectly still, until I was ready to talk again.

“We started hearing the stories of the magic within a few hours. Del called me on the phone that afternoon. Hers was the best. Perception magic; she made snow. But you could feel it, too, not just see it. It was such a cool, rare magic. We threw snowballs in her backyard, in July, and you'd look down at your hand, which felt cold and wet, but there was nothing there. It was pretty awesome … at first.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I willed it to slow down. Desmond waited, forever patient.

“Del got sick the fastest, probably because she used her power the most. I mean,
we
used it. Anyway, she just … collapsed, and they took her away.”

“They?” Desmond asked, and I answered. “The agencies.”

“And your father wasn't around?”

I shook my head. “Business trip, supposedly. I think he just skipped town for it. My guess is, he figured if it worked, it would give him plausible deniability with my mother, and if it didn't…”

There was a look of extreme sympathy on Desmond's face, and it made me uncomfortable, so I looked away.

“It had to be me, I think. Metal elemental. We're so rare, and he needed me to try this experiment, but…”

“He's a coward,” Desmond filled in when I trailed off. “He couldn't face what he was doing, so he ran off.”

My father was a lot of things, a coward just one of them, but I didn't want to talk about him. “Anyway, next was Del's dad, and her mom and then … my mom got sick.”

“But she was already a magical,” Desmond said. “Shouldn't she have been immune, like you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I don't know why I survived.”

Desmond nodded. He wasn't taking physical notes, but I could see that he was putting all the details away in his brain, in case any might make sense later.

“Anyway,” I went on, “that night, before they could take my mother away to wherever they'd taken Del and her family, she opened the safe and gave me my new documents. A fake birth certificate, a driver's license, a Social Security card, and the keys to her car. She … she told me…” I let out a breath. Sixteen years, I had never breathed a word about that day, to anyone, and the release of it was making me a little dizzy.

“Eliot?” Desmond said, his voice low and careful. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said, more denial than outright lying. “She told me that it was me. She used the last of her magic to bind my powers so he couldn't ever use me that way again, and she told me to run and never see my father again. Then … she died.”

The room was oppressively quiet. Even Seamus, asleep on the floor, wasn't snoring. A cool trickle of sweat beaded down my spine. I had stopped packing some time ago, and even though I knew my magic was bound, I felt hesitant about touching anything made of metal, so my utensils just sat on the counter like a pile of old scrap.

Desmond was the first to break the silence. “How long was the incubation period, between initial exposure and demise?”

“It depended on how much people used their new magic. Del went quick, a few hours. I was gone by the following night, but based on what I found out later, I think most people were dead within twenty-four hours.”

“And what were the symptoms?” His expression was sharp, analytical. Like a doctor, looking for clues for his diagnosis.

“At first, the magic would happen accidentally. Magic is sparked by emotion, so someone would get mad or be surprised, their hands would tingle and their light would spark and
poof
, suddenly they'd change the color of pencil lead, or make a flower appear from thin air. A few hours of using the magic, and the power surges came. You know, where it just gets so strong, you can't control it anymore. After that, people just collapsed and then…”

“And no one in that basement was given anything to eat or drink?”

I shook my head. “I'm sure some people had coffee or a snack or something, but not all of us. He didn't use potions, if that's what you're getting at. It was some kind of electrical thing.”

He nodded. “Your father wasn't in the room, correct? Do you think he might have given you a potion to spark the experiment?”

“Maybe, I guess,” I snapped, sudden irritation surging through me. “I don't know. Do any of these details even matter?”

He gave me the patient gaze of the scientist. “Details always matter.”

“Well, that's all I've got for you. Now, you can answer some questions for me.”

He made a motion of permission with his hands.
Proceed.

“So what makes you think that my father is going to try it again?”

“Emerson funded my research.”

I closed my eyes. “Let me guess. Spreading magic to nonmagicals?”

Desmond lowered his eyes. “I was a doctor. And a conjurer. I thought I could figure it out, scientifically, using magic…” His expression was grim. “It was foolishness and hubris, and I'm afraid I'm the reason Emerson chose Nodaway Falls. I had some…” There was a brief pause, and Desmond's mouth twitched with distaste. “…
successes,
I guess you could call them, and he's been interested in this town ever since.”

“Do you still work for him?”

He shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Not anymore.”

“But that's why you're still here?” I asked, putting my best guess on it. “To make it up to these people who hate you?”

Desmond seemed a little surprised by the comment, and I shrugged.

“Look, you were sitting by yourself in a bar reading Sartre; that's not a guy with a lot of friends. Plus, I saw the look Stacy gave you when she was in Happy Larry's yesterday. She does
not
like you. Even Liv seemed a little iffy about you. And today, Addie told me you were a bad guy and that I shouldn't trust you. Whatever you did to these people, they really hate you.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “They do.”

“And you think you're going to make it up to them? Protect them from this danger, and make it all better?”

“No,” he said carefully. “I threw a lit cigarette on the ground. It's irresponsible to walk away while the fire burns.”

“Well, I'm leaving,” I said. “If I'm gone, he can't do whatever he wants to do, and then you can move on. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

He gave me a surprised look. “It's all hypotheses and conjecture,” he said. “I have no idea what's really going on. Your father managed to create a lot of chaos without you last year—”

“You mean, with
you
?”

His eyes met mine and didn't flinch at all. “Yes. While your being here now can hardly be a coincidence, I take no comfort in your running off.”

“Running off? Pardon my American rudeness, but fuck you, buddy.” I picked up a pan and threw it in my box, anger coursing through my body. “Look, whatever's going on here can only get better if I leave. I'm sorry I can't give you a solid answer to everything you're looking for, but I didn't come looking for this. Now, just … tell me you didn't put an unbinding potion in the Welcome Wagon lasagna.”

Desmond's eyebrows knit together. “What lasagna?”

I shook out my hands. “The one that came in the Welcome Wagon stuff. The one I ate yesterday.”

He shook his head, concern on his face. “No. And I haven't made any potions that would unbind magic that anyone could have taken. Why?”

“Because,” I said, panic running through me, “my hands are tingling.”

Desmond hopped up from the stool he was sitting on and moved toward me, but I held my hand out to stop him.

“Your magic,” he said quietly, not moving. “It's back?”

“There's only one way to find out,” I said, and grabbed a knife.

 

Chapter 5

Desmond watched me carefully as I took the knife into my hand. Almost instantly, tiny blue strings of lightning danced around my fingers.

It was easy. Natural. What is it they say? Like riding a bike. I simply closed my fingers around the metal, and then, with hardly any effort or thought at all, it re-formed in my hand. When I opened my fist, a tiny stainless steel potion flask, wide at the bottom and thin at the mouth, sat in my palm. I handed it to Desmond who, to his credit, took it from me without fear.

“That's decorative,” I said absently. “Steel corrupts potions.”

“Yes,” he said, staring down at the thing. “I know.”

“Of course you do. Sorry.” I let out a breath. “Well, fuck my fucking life, huh?” I put my hand to my forehead. I couldn't get in a full breath. “I think I might pass out.”

Desmond touched my arm and guided me to the couch where he sat me down and leaned me over, putting my head between my knees. I heard him get up, and a moment later the faucet turned on. When he came back, I heard him set the glass gently on the coffee table. He put his hand at the base of my neck, and the strength of him was comforting, but I couldn't indulge that.

“You can't touch me,” I said. “I'm not safe around nonmagicals. I think maybe I need to go off somewhere and be a hermit. It's okay. Age of Amazon, and everything, I can have supplies delivered to a cabin in the mountains by drones. I don't like people very much, anyway.”

He didn't move his hand. “I'm not worried. You may have been a catalyst, but your father set off the original reaction, somehow. I'm sure of it. He may have unbound your magic, but I don't think you're a danger to anyone.”

I pulled my head up and looked at him. “Hypothesis and conjecture. You don't know shit.”

He gave a grim nod. “Fair enough. I would like to stay with you until sunset, though, just for observation. Will that be all right?”

I shrugged. “How long is that?”

“About six hours. We could run some tests, have you use your magic, test your control. But there's time for that. First, perhaps a nap would be in order.”

I gave him a wry smile. “Is that your way of telling me I look exhausted?”

“Yes,” he said.

I would have argued with him, but I was too tired. I stood up and walked over to Seamus, nudging his sleeping body gently with my foot. He opened one eye and looked up at me, then closed it again. I grabbed his collar and urged him to his feet. He may be a crappy watchdog, but no way was I sleeping alone right now.

“While you sleep, I'd like to make some phone calls, if you don't mind.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen, then looked up at me, waiting for permission.

“Fine.” I shrugged, almost grateful that he was taking charge, because it was for sure I had no idea what to do. “Who are you calling?”

He didn't look up from his phone. “The cavalry.”

*   *   *

Seven hours and one full chess set made from my flatware later, I was sitting in the eclectically decorated living room of Olivia Kiskey's Victorian house. Desmond had walked me to the house but stopped at the sidewalk, passing me and Seamus off to Liv like a prisoner exchange. Liv led me inside, settling me on a leather La-Z-Boy recliner while Stacy and Addie sat on a poofy floral love seat. Across the coffee table, Peach took up the center of the impossibly lime-green couch, flanked by Liv on one side of her and a woman in her seventies wearing a pair of blue sweats and a Cookie Monster T-shirt—this was the eponymous Betty of Crazy Cousin Betty's waffle house, I was informed—on the other. Liv set a bowl of apple slices and peanut butter in the corner for Seamus, who went facedown in it.

Liv was wearing jeans and a brown T-shirt that read
THE DUDE ABIDES.
Peach was wearing a yellow sundress in which her round belly looked basically like the sun. On top of it she balanced a napkin with brownies on it, which she picked at lazily, as if nothing big was going on. Stacy sat with her arms crossed over her army-green tank top, her eyes narrowed and her stance ready for action. I didn't shrink from her stare, but I didn't engage with it, either.

At the moment, Stacy Easter was the least of my fucking problems.

“So … you really haven't had magic for sixteen years?” Addie asked, pouring a glass of lemonade for me.

“Nope.”

“Wow,” Peach said. “That must have been weird. How are you feeling?”

“A little wobbly,” I said honestly, “but I'll be okay. So … you're all magical?”

“We'll ask the questions, thanks,” Stacy said, eyeing me with suspicion.

Liv made a sound of disapproval in Stacy's direction, and Peach shifted a bit and pushed down on her stomach.

“Get your foot out of Mommy's ribs, sweetie,” Peach said, then smiled at me. “Liv's magical, and Betty. Stacy's a conjurer. I'm just a groupie.”